


How to Maintain Cordial Relations With Your Spouse (no paintbrushes allowed)

by Sartorially, thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, Nursery Room Painting, Painting, Pregnancy, Ridiculously in Love, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves, mild argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-05-15 09:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sartorially/pseuds/Sartorially, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: You're really handling this totally well. Seven months in, and you'restilldoing great.Or at least, you would be, if it weren't for the fact that Fef keeps insisting that she candothings like carrying heavy shit and climbing on counters and oh god you're gonna give yourself another heart attack justthinkingabout it.





	How to Maintain Cordial Relations With Your Spouse (no paintbrushes allowed)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auxanges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auxanges/gifts).



> this is based off one of the RPs auxanges and thescyfychannel have, it's a scene from Some Point In The Future when Eridan and Feferi settle down a little more and start having kids of their own, which adds Considerably to the already full house, consisting of: Eridan's grandfather (Aldain), who immigrated from Faroe back when Denmark got anti-wolf a couple hundred years ago; Eridan's grandmother (Odessa), who grew up in various forested and mountainous parts of Quebec; their _seven_ children, almost all of whom have assorted spouses of various mythical nature; and his sibling and cousins, some of whom already have mates.
> 
> so...yeah it's kinda nuts

This is like the fourth heart attack Fef's given you this week.

Also, it's Monday.

 

You'd taken to the news (shouted across the kitchen table, during a meal that had turned into a bit more of a battle than usual, in a rare moment of defensive panic) like a duck to water, a pup to sprinting, a cat to lazy Saturday sunbeams. You were _all kinds of ready_ to be a dad. To have _pups._

You were _not_ the least bit ready for Fef Peixes (no, Fef _Ampora,_ now) to _keep trying to do shit._ _  
_

"Fef," you say, your tone as cautious as you can make it as you approach her slowly. "What're you doin." _  
_

Her eyes narrow on you, and you know that you are in for it. That is the Look Of Doom, and usually it would send you running, but today you're a man on a mission to protect his mate and his pup. Pups. You're still not sure how many she's having. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing, Eridan."

There are no right answers here. It's like playing Minesweeper on death mode. It's like wandering through an _actual_ minefield. It's like...like...

Well, it's like trying to talk to your Very Pregnant Wife when you think that maybe she might be mad at you.

Also, she's got a paintbrush, and it would not be the first time Feferi threw paint at you. "I think it looks like you're overtaxin yourself again, beloved heart," you try, hoping that you can stay on her good side with the generous application of pet names and puppy eyes. "Didn't we talk about this?"

_"_ _You_ talked. _I_ folded laundry, like a sensible person would."

"You were carryin a very heavy laundry basket!"

"And the time before that—"

"Dishes are _strenuous_ , love, an besides, you were gonna climb up on the counter—"

_"Eridan."_ Oh, god, you're fucking for it. "I am not made of glass! Nor am I some delicate little flower you need to _protect_ —" Paint is going absolutely everywhere, as she chews you out, and you have to admit, you're maybe just a little bit enamored with her, the sight of her, the everything of her. She's _beautiful_ when she's mad, and all the curves of her, her and your pup, and, oh, _fuck._

"I'm so in love with you," you tell her, not even caring that she's gone on to list all of the reasons her current state is completely your fault. She's definitely right, about this, about everything, and you definitely do not care. _  
_

 

Her expression softens, and you swoop in, plucking the paintbrush out of her hand and sweeping her into your arms. "Ampora—"

"Ampora," you counter, grinning as she turns the prettiest of rosy pinks. "You're gorgeous. Wonderful. Perfect."

"You," she manages, flushed and flustered, "are ridiculous."

**Author's Note:**

> scy note: CONGRATULATIONS ON GRADUATING I am so proud of you mon ange you kicked ass <33


End file.
